Impala On The Backroads
by Soncnica
Summary: A collection of stories happening on the side of the road. More info in the A/N's.
1. Make A Wish

**I am cleaning up my computer (again) and found all these half done stories, short ones, where the boys are by the side of the road or sitting on the hood of the Impala (like they so often do in the show) and talking stuff out… like on the show (those are my fav moments) *clears throat* anyways… so I'll post those stories I have and because I'm OCD like hell, I'll post those stories in one post called: Impala On The Backroads. **

**So the 1****st**** story is this one and whenever I'll write another one like it, I'll just post it here. **

**I OWN NOTHING! NOTHING... and I'm sorry for all the grammar/spelling mistakes.  
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><p><strong>TITLE: Make A Wish<strong>

"Come on, make a wish."

Dean's voice is gruff, the third bottle of beer settling nice and easy in his belly and the night air fresh and smooth wrapping itself around him.

"Huh?"

's like Sam has no ears, the kid never hears him with all this important stuff.

"A wish, man."

"Why?"

Dean sighs into the beer bottle; the sound too loud in the eerily quiet night. Sam always with the 'why's'. Why this, why that, why left, why right. It was annoying when Sam was a kid and it's still annoying now when he's… older.

"'cause there was a shooting star," he points at the dark sky littered with sparkling stars, "and normal people make a wish whenever they see it." He looks at his brother that's sitting still and tense - always so tense - next to him with the beer bottle hanging from his hand next to his thigh.

Sam's eyes are weirdly bright and his voice suspiciously soft and: "'m not normal, Dean. Never was... apparently." and the way Sam smiles, that quick smile that is not a smile at all, but just a way to stuff the tears back inside… it makes Dean look back to the sky.

It's safer to look up there.

He takes another sip, the beer warm now, but it still chills him to his bones and when the silence wraps itself too tight around his chest, squeezing the last air out of his lungs, he says: "Well Sammy, neither am I. We're both freaks, how many times do I need to tell you that, huh?"

Sam smiles… the real smile, not the one that's forced and faked and stuffing other shit down when it appears.

The real one, teeth and all.

"Yeah."

"Hell yeah."

The clink of half empty bottles echoes through the night.

"Get me another beer, bitch."

"Get it yourself, jerk. 'm not your slave."

"Ha, you're my little brother… that automatically makes you," he hits Sam's calf with the empty beer bottle, "my slave."

Sam rolls his eyes: "I want a rain check on that falling star…"

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><p><strong>The End. <strong>


	2. Come Back

**A/N: You can place this in any season you want. *grins*  
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><p><strong>TITLE: Come Back<strong>

His voice was coffee stained and whiskey burned but he still managed to scream: "Sam!"

His fingers were numb from the cold and shaky from the adrenaline going offline, but he still managed to grasp Sam's jacket and catch his brother on his way down.

His eyes were wide opened and scratched from the icy wind, but he still managed to see his brother's face; lines distorted with pain.

He breathed: "You with me? Hey, you with me?" into his brother's greasy hair, when Sam's head fell down and he couldn't catch it fast enough.

The passenger door of his baby was freezing cold at his back, but the support she offered made him sigh into his brother's cold neck: "You're gonna be okay… "

The snow was all around them, snow flakes falling silently onto the frozen ground when Sam's: "De-an…" broke the silence and made Dean say: "I gotcha, 'm not leaving ya."

He leaned his back to the Impala, trusted her to keep him from falling down, trusted her to protect his back from whatever might decide to sneak attack him, trusted her to be a solid wall behind him he would be able to use to haul himself and his brother up, when Sam would be feeling up to it.

He ignored the cold seeping through his jacket hitting his back, he ignored the snow melting beneath his ass, he ignored the snow melting on his face, he ignored his knuckles leaving blood in Sam's hair.

He ignored the cold and the clatter of his teeth.

He ignored Sam's weight on his legs, making them fall asleep, little ants already dancing in 'em.

He had his brother, warm and breathing, safe and alive in his arms and that's all that mattered.

He would sit like this for as long as it would take... here, by the side of the road leading to some godforsaken town in Nebraska, silently waiting for his brother to come back to him.

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><p><strong>The End.<strong>


	3. Co de pen den c and y

**A/N: Happens sometime after Sam, Interrupted. So Spoilers for S5E11. **

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><p><strong>TITLE: <strong> Co. de. pen. den. c and y.<strong>  
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The hood of the Impala was hot underneath his ass, his jeans sticking to his skin with all the sweat running down his legs; he was glued to the baby if he wanted to or not. It was freakin' winter, but he still sweated like there was no tomorrow. The alcohol running slow and steady in his system probably had something to do with that too, but he'd never admit it.

Dean was a silent presence next to him; his body shielding Sam's left side from whatever might've been lurking in the dark woods surrounding them. Sam knew Dean's gun was loaded and ready tucked safely behind the waistband of his jeans. If something would come, smelling fresh blood – or beer - … bangbangbang… dead.

Dean's right leg was dangling from the side of the hood - his heel bumping into the tire probably, Sam couldn't be sure, not with how everything was swimming in front of his eyes – and his left one pulled up to his chest. Sam had only raised an eyebrow when he saw Dean put his boot on his baby's hood. He didn't say anything to that because there was nothing to say. It was Dean's baby and Dean knew best.

The stars were bright, too bright for his eyes to look at. Even the moon, covered by some clouds that would probably bring rain or snow in the next few days, was too bright.

Too bright for his tired eyes. Too bright for the anger sleeping inside of him.

He cleared his throat and clicked with his tongue, wanting so badly to swallow down what he wanted to say, but couldn't. He just couldn't... not with the night so cold and the stars so bright and the feeling of safety and peace so firm in him, his belly ached with it.

This was familiar; this sitting, relaxed and content on the Impala… this was something they did in the past, something they carried on from when they were kids. It was like Saturday for normal people he figured; that feeling of peace and safety, like nothing would ever go wrong, nothing would ever happen and tomorrow will be Sunday with no work to be done.

This was home… this was the closest he ever got to those kinda Saturdays.

"You think the doc was right?"

He asked into the night, taking a quick sip of his beer and hissing at the coldness of it when it slid down his warm throat.

"Hmmm?"

He tightened the grip he had on the bottle and ignored the itch in his fingers to tear the label off.

"About us, ya know," he made a vague gesture with his beer, a semi circle that made him hit his calf with the side of the bottle, "... being co-dependant and you know," he cleared his throat, "all that."

He wanted to make a joke out of it, somehow in some way make it so that Dean would start laughing and call him a bitch and an idiot, but he couldn't think of a way to do so. Because maybe it wasn't a joke.

Because maybe… maybe they were codependent and that was just a scary thought.

The stars were flickering, in and out of focus making him close his eyes and squeeze them tightly shut, before he'd get some sort of vertigo, because he was talented like that.

Dean's huff made him open up his eyes way too fast and the small bright white dots still remained, dancing in front of his vision.

"Sure, bitch. You'll give me two fresh beers and I'll open them up. Complete co. de. pen. den. c and y."

Sam snorted: "Yeah, sure." before he could stop himself, because he could already hear Dean rolling his eyes and preparing himself to hit him with his empty bottle.

But all Dean did was look at the sky, licked the beer off of his lips and said: "Sam, with our lives, man? 's not codependency, it's more like… keeping each other alive, ya know? That quack didn't know what he was talking about. Too much time with the crazy people," he made a few quick circles with his finger around his temple, "made him codependent with his pills."

Well, Sam did not expect that, he was already tensing all his muscles so that when that bottle would hit, it wouldn't hurt so much.

But Dean was right in a way, somehow, somewhere in what he had just said… he was right and when Sam would stop being drunk, he'll go look for it – that rightness.

"Now seriously, come on, hand me the beer."

The soft noise the beer cap did when it fell to the ground was silenced by Sam's: "Ahhh, this is some good beer."

"Think you had enough there, kiddo."

"Shut up."

Sam missed the smirk on Dean's lips… a tug of lips that meant: yeah, we're kinda codependent, so what?

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><p><strong>The End.<strong>


	4. Pain And Loss

**A/N: S1, right after Jess died**

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><p><strong>TITLE: Pain And Loss<strong>

It's just pain. But it isn't. But it is. Nothing else. Just pure pain that's stabbing into him from all sides, front and back. Just pain that's slicing through him like a rusty, jagged knife until he feels like his body is gonna split in half and his insides spill on the floor. Thick pain that's taking away air for his next breath and pain that's making him writhe on the backseat of the Impala and clutch at the cold leather until he can no longer feel his fingers. Pain that's getting stuck in his throat and pain that's pushing needles into his eyes.

"'s just pain, Sam." Dean whispers into the darkness of the car; no noise from outside, no noise at all. And his brother is right, it is just pain. It is just something he had been told to suck up, push through and be a man about it. But ...

"No, 's not."

Because there's also loss. Deep, twisting-your-gut loss that's just tearing him apart more than the pain is.

Pain and loss ... the rulers of him in this fall night.

Never again see, smell, touch, taste... never again see those eyes smile. Never again kiss and love and need and want and ... have.

"Sam..."

"'s not."

Because it's not and Dean of all people should know that.

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><p><strong>The End.<strong>


	5. Not Today

**A/N: Sorry for any mistakes, I'm not good with English today.**

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><p><strong>TITLE: Not Today<strong>

"Dean, hang in there!"

Sam yelled to his brother, not really giving a damn about Dean's sensitive ears at the moment. He saw blood ooze out of them earlier, but there was nothing he could've done about it. Hospital was the place to go and Sam wasn't gonna hesitate in bringing his brother there.

"Hang in there, man!" he yelled again, gripping the steering wheel and turning back to take a look at his brother. He got a wink from Dean, or maybe it was just Dean's way of getting the warm, sticky blood out of his eyes.

"Hang in there." He whispered more to himself than Dean, but he was sure his brother heard it anyway.

He stepped harder on the gas, making the Impala fly on the dark road, the fog curling around the car.

"Sam, stop the car."

The words were a faint rasp, and made Sam turn around again to see what the hell his brother was talking about.

"Stop..."

"No, no, you need the hospital, 'm not stopping, you nuts!?"

"Stop, please stop..."

His heart ... ached at the words, the plea and the demand coming from his brother almost made him stop the car, his foot already off the gas, but ...

"Dean, I can't, you need a hospital, asap!"

"Sammy..."

And then his brother groaned and cried out and Sam had to - his brain wired that way - stop the car by the side of the road. He had no other choice, his name whispered like that and then Dean whimpering and crying out ... he had no other choice.

As soon as the car stopped and the engine stopped its noise, the back door opened and Dean spilled out through the fog to land on the dry ground.

"Jesus Christ, man what're you doin'?"

Sam rounded the car, his right hand sliding across the hot hood and got onto his knees behind his brother's crouching form.

His chest collided hard with Dean's back and he draped himself over his brother, pushing Dean further down on his knees and hands.

And then he winced when Dean started heaving, and closed his eyes when Dean puked out strings of spit and blood.

Blood.

Blood.

They had both bled so many times, on so many roads, but this was different. This was blood coming straight from inside of his brother, spilling out of his mouth in thick strings and crashing to the ground to make a big puddle between Dean's splayed fingers.

This was not how their life was supposed to be. They weren't meant to bleed out and die on the side of a road, alone and forgotten by everyone and everything.

But they were, weren't they? The road had been their home for years, they have no family, no friends, maybe the demons would mourn the loss of their favorite chew toys, but the rest of the world? Not really. No one would miss them, no one would give a damn and no one would even know they were dead.

"Sa-am?"

"Yeah man, 'm gonna get you to the hospital, alright. Can you get up?"

Because if they were meant to die on the side of a road to nowhere, it ain't gonna be today. Not today.

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><p><strong>The End.<strong>


	6. If Wishes Were Horses

**A/N: "You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night."**

**- Roy, S01E02 -**

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><p><strong>TITLE: If Wishes Were Horses<strong>

"D' you remember when Roy said that about mom?"

"Dude said a lot about a lot of things."

"The thing about mom kissing me goodnight."

"Sam, the man was an asshole. Didn't deserve to die, but still an asshole."

"Yeah ... yeah, but still ... did she?"

"Did she what?"

"Kiss me goodnight?"

Silence filled with the sounds of trees rubbing trunks in the strong wind.

Silence filled with the sound of the wind howling around the car.

Silence filled with breathing and fabric rustling.

Silence filled with questions and answers too painful to say.

But ...

"Every night, man, every night."

-:-

Sam watched the stars flicker on the early November sky, the car's windows crystal clean, just the way his brother's baby deserved it. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think of mom, of Jess. Tried not to think of all the kisses he got and couldn't remember and all the kisses he got and would never get again.

-:-

Dean couldn't breathe - not with the space inside the car too small for every memory floating in his mind and with Sam too close for comfort, Dad too far away for comfort, and mom ... long gone.

He rubbed his left hand down his face, chasing the memory of his mom's soft press of lips on his forehead. And the way she had smelled. And how her long, blond hair had spilled all over his face, when she'd lean down to whisper _goodnight_.

He knew Sam doesn't remember that.

He could hear his little brother turn around in the back seat, trying to get comfortable in the small space.

He stared through the squeaky clean windshield, wishing Sam could remember. Wishing Sam could remember everything about their mom.

If only wishes were horses and not monsters.

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><p><strong>The End.<strong>


	7. If You Asked

**A/N: S3E16. Sorry for all the grammar mistakes.**

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><p><strong>TITLE: If You Asked<strong>

If you asked, Sam wouldn't be able to tell you when he got used to pain; maybe it was when he broke his arm or leg or any limb really for the first time, or maybe when he was shot for the first time, or maybe when he was thrown into a wall for the first time, or maybe when he was being choked for the first time, or maybe when he was stabbed for the first time, or maybe when he went through his growth spurt, or maybe when he was hit with something for the first time, or maybe when he died … for the first time.

... he really wouldn't be able to tell you, because there was a long list of hurt and ache and pain in his mind to choose from.

The only thing that he would be able to tell you for sure would be; the pain of loosing someone... he would never get used to that.

That kind of pain has a different pang to it than any injury he had ever had, a different ache that filled him up until he almost burst. It cut coldly through a different angle in his chest when it happened ... it went diagonally in and then up to his heart, spearing it with its sharpness. Little cracks in his soul, it made. Little cracks that grew and grew until they reached his eyes and exploded. Tight throat and lungs destroyed by quick breaths.

Watching his dead brother lying on the backseat of the car… blood shining in the passing streetlights.

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><p><strong>The End. <strong>


	8. The End Of Them

**TITLE: The End Of Them **

The night had fallen on the land hours ago but the day's warmth was still hanging on; stretching into the wee hours of the morning.

There was sweat running down Sam's back and his neck, the salty liquid getting sucked up by the neck of his T-shirt, drops of it running down his temples too, making the hair there as wet as if someone had poured a bucket of water over his head. He could feel the hair at his nape curling up, but he couldn't do anything about that, never could really. Hot was hot and hot always made him sweat like crazy.

There was a soft breeze coming into the car from both open – shattered to pieces - front windows; it filled the interior with the clean smell of the forest they were surrounded by.

It was a bright night, clear sky and a huge yellow moon that was on its way to setting, stars flickering to their death until they'd appear again in a few hours. The silence was so loud, it was deafening. Sam knew silence, knew noise – with Dean as his brother, he got used to noise very quickly – but this was a different kind of silence. It was full, cozy, soothing and held a tune he knew, but couldn't pinpoint exactly from where.

-:-

No people, no cars, no screaming, no yelling, no animals, nothing but a cricket here and there, some frogs, an owl, leaves rustling and tree trunks brushing up against each other in the wind.

That was all there was.

Except for some clicking noise that was coming from the Impala, but that was all right. It was supposed to be there.

"Dean?"

Sam turned to his left, towards his brother, just like he'd done so many times before. The move was in his blood; turn left in the car, there you'd find your brother.

"Yeah?"

The word was spoken softy, no other meaning behind it than a question of _what_, but Dean's voice was gruff, worn down by Whiskey and age and a life hard on Dean's soul and body.

Sam licked his lips before saying anything; licked at blood that should've ran down his cheeks and into his mouth, but his tongue found nothing but smooth, warm skin.

"You think we're really dead this time?"

Weird to say it, really. Actually, the weirdest part of that sentence was that he had to use the words 'this time', because yeah their lives were filled with death; their own numerous times and other people's death. Friends, family, strangers.

Death. Hell, they even met Death and he was a weird fellow himself. Fried pickles, Jesus!

"Yeah, Sammy, I think we are."

Dean turned his head towards Sam; turn right in the car, and there you'd find your brother.

"Okay."

What else was there to say? If life had taught them anything, anything at all, was that Death was something they found plenty, but it never stuck.

Until now, maybe. Perhaps. But then again, they've been cheated of dying for real so many times, who was to know this wasn't another one of those times? What if powers to be would just keep on bringing them back, making them immortal as a mortal – with friends and enemies in very high and low places - could get?

"You sure?"

"Dude, I wrapped baby around the tree going like light speed, so ... I think we're dead."

"Well, all right then."

"Yeah."

The wind was warm, the moon was setting and behind the car, a glow of early dawn - orange and blue and red - was starting to appear. If this was Hell, then whoa Crowley made huge changes. And if this was Heaven, then whoa, cool. Maybe Dean would fix the Impala and they'd ride down the roads, maybe meet all their … all the people they've failed. And ain't that gonna be a party.

"Hey, you think..."

"I swear Sam, if they try to put us back down there, or up there, hell if I know where we are, 'm gonna kill someone."

Sam snorted, because yeah ... he really hoped that this was it. That this was ... their end.

"Soulmates, man." He muttered, still not believing it, because that was just not something brothers were or could be. Just felt weird, 's all.

He looked out of the frond windshield at a huge, thick tree trunk that the Impala was wrapped around like a burrito wrap.

Huh, apparently they could be.

And for the record, t'was Dean's idea; he wanted to take baby with him too.

Fine.

Dean's grin was brighter than the sun: "Ha, just means I'll still be able to kick your ass even in the afterlife."

"You wish, jerk."

"Let's crawl out of the car and see what we can see, bitch."

Together. Like always.

Always.

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><p><strong>The End<strong>

**A/N: And this concludes this 'verse of stories of the Impala on the back roads. You can unfollow this story now. Thank you very much for following and reading and gah, I so hope that the boys will get a happy ending when the show ends. Or as happy as they can get it. *sigh***


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